When my husband, Michael, became distant, I confided in my best friend, Anna. She reassured me it was nothing, but the truth was far worse—he was cheating on me with her.
After discovering their betrayal, I filed for divorce, taking half of his assets and starting over. I found happiness with Daniel, a kind man who treated me with the respect I deserved.
A year later, I ran into Michael and Anna at a gas station, struggling with their broken car and financial issues. Their perfect life had crumbled.
Karma had struck, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing I was better off without them.
John Foster walked onto the stage, took a deep breath, and looked up to the sky. Then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said one name: Elvis Presley. The crowd leaned in. And then—with tears slipping down his face—he grabbed the mic and sang “Jailhouse Rock” like it was the last thing he’d ever do. His voice cracked, not from weakness, but from pure emotion. You could hear the ache, the love, the weight of memory in every note. For a few minutes, the world stood still. 50,000 people held their breath. Then—boom. The silence shattered into thunderous applause. This wasn’t just a song. It was a goodbye, a thank you, and a piece of John’s soul laid bare on stage.